


sharp

by qar



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Self-Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28202766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qar/pseuds/qar
Summary: You scream when you open your communicator. It rips out of your throat like acid, like boiling blood scraping against the walls of your windpipe and leaving third-degree burns.Disclaimer:If any of the creators mention they are uncomfortable with these types of fics I will take this down.
Relationships: Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 14
Kudos: 259





	sharp

_You were ~~one of the greatest~~ the greatest friend i ever had.the years we spent togeter were the best of my life, though thick and thin. the time i spent without you was the loneliest . i’m sorry it ended this way.i always thought i’d die more heroicly. maybe a sacerifice. this is jjust cowardice. but i hope it doesnt effect you too much. i dont know if it means anything to you anymore but your going to be great, tubbo. you're the greatest leader and friend the world has ever seen. stick it to em. ~~love you~~ love you _

_\---_

You scream when you open your communicator. It rips out of your throat like acid, like boiling blood scraping against the walls of your windpipe and leaving third-degree burns. You scream louder than you ever have before, doubling over like someone’s physically punched you in the gut and collapsing into yourself. Hands flutter over your body, unbearably gentle, lowering you to the ground kindly. You don’t deserve it. You wish they’d let you fall and fucking die.

(like tommy had)

Tommy’s dead. Your best friend- ex-best friend now, you didn’t deserve that title, never did, he was fucking dead- is fucking dead, and it’s your fault, it’s your fault _it’s your fault-_

“Tubbo,” someone says. You can barely hear them over the roaring of blood in your ears and the tunnel vision that’s obscured your view. “Tubbo, breathe- please, _Tubbo!”_

You shake your head, curling into yourself. You’re staring at a suicide note. You’re staring directly at a suicide note, written by _him-_ Tommy, who was dead now, who was long, long gone, if the passage of time you’d just experienced was right- it’d been years, _years_ since you’d hugged Tommy, since you’d intertwined your hands together, since you’d fallen asleep on the same bed. It’d been so long it physically hurt. It tears you apart, atom by atom, like your ex-best friend is destroying you slowly to make up for the pain you’d caused him.

You bury your head into your knees, tears burning into your skin like lava, louder than you’ve been in a long, long time. The blood in your ears gets louder, encompassing every other sense until it’s just you and the loud drone. You don’t even realise you’re still screaming until you let out another heave, your lungs begging for air. 

A hand grips your shoulder tightly. “Tubbo, you need to breathe- please-”

You flinch away, hands coming up to tug at your hair. You just killed your Tommy. You shouldn’t- don’t deserve- to breathe. You’ve just committed a murder, and the victim was one of the best things in your life. And it was _Tommy_ ; loud, chaotic Tommy, your balance. You feel incredibly unbalanced now. Like someone’s ripped off one of your arms, or your legs, or chopped your entire brain into tiny, tiny pieces because that’s what you deserve.

“Tubbo- please, stop, you’re gonna hurt yourself-”

You let out a harsh noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob, slowly unclamping your hands from your hair and moving them to your biceps. You can feel the crescents of blood starting to form. “ _Ha,_ " you snap. “He- he fucking committed suicide- and- and you’re telling me not to hurt _myself_.” Your voice breaks, again, and you let out another sob. “That’s- so fucking _ironic_.”

The tunnel vision slowly phases out, leaving you staring, blankly, at your communicator on the floor. It’s still intact, somehow, and your face crumbles and you lean over and hit it, as hard as you can, with your fist before Ranboo can stop you. It doesn’t break. You sob again as the older teenager grabs your arm and gathers you in his arms.

“I want _Tommy_ ,” you say, shakily, into Ranboo’s shoulder. He pulls you closer, and you can feel his tears soaking into your shirt. There’s a crowd of people around you. You only- “I want Tommy,” you whisper again. “Oh god, _Tommy.”_

You want your best friend back. You want to watch the sunset with him, listen to Mellohi, to hold his hand or drag him into a hug. You want _Tommy._ You aren't getting Tommy because he's fucking dead because you killed him.

The compass pressed to your chest is warm. The low sound of the needle whirring wildly fills up every single one of your senses.

\---

_dream!my only friend. which of us won? I figured it out in the end, i dont know if you thought i would. you were manipulating me. I dn’t think you wanted it to go so far. Did you mean to breake me to this point?_

_I don’t know. but if you didn’t, i won. if yu did, fuck . you won. it’s too late to mater now, isn’t it? maybe you’ll miss me. Dout it. Fuk you._

_This is the best fro everyone anyways. lmanberg is better off without me, my family is dead or left me, i dont givea fuck about whta’s best for you, tubbo hopefully wont care and i dont want to fucking live anymore. Hope your satisfyed._

\---

You frown. You hadn’t meant to kill him, just break him down to the bare essentials and build him back up. Or, maybe, if you’d failed, Tommy’d run off with someone and create the next big war. You had, somewhat, expected him to figure it out. You hadn’t expected him to kill himself in spite of this.

Maybe in some universe, you and Tommy could’ve been friends. You had been, once, even in this one. Now, though, he’s just a pawn- a puppet- for you to play with. And now- well, he’s dead. 

Tommy was wrong in saying he’d won, even if this, indeed, hadn’t been your intended outcome. There was no possible way he could have won. His death does not matter to you. You haven’t lost anything.

Time to face the music, then. Maybe Tommy’s left you the beginnings of turmoil and rebellion. He’s always been resourceful like that.

**Author's Note:**

> discord: https://discord.gg/w9CwSK26mm (copy paste into a browser)  
> (it is not as depressing as this shitty little fic i promise)
> 
> tumblr is @noorahqar, i'm going to TRY to use it more often so go send me shit there if you want
> 
> stay safe <3


End file.
